"I just don't know what to do about him – recently he's just been more to handle than I could ever imagine him being. I knew that things would be rough when his father died, but I never imagined that he would be this out of control!"
Max frowned as he leaned up against the wall in the hallway outside of his mother's bedroom. He hated it when his mother talked to her 'new' husband about him – he hated that she spoke to him as though Max was his son, as though he actually had a clue when it came to Max.
"Diane, you're doing everything right." The man put his arm around Max's mother. "He's a difficult child – perhaps you should send him to the Military Academy no matter what – I hate to say this, but I don't like watching you bend over backwards in support of a lost cause. Max clearly needs discipline that we can't give him."
That was about all that Max could take. His stepfather's words made his stomach turn – he was NOT a child, nor was he a lost cause. This man had no right to come into his family and say those things. Max knew that he was grounded until Monday, but he needed a cigarette badly and there was no way that he was going to get his back from his mother. He went into his room, locked the door, and hoisted himself out of the window.
Over the years, Max had become an artist of sneaking out. He hated being stuck in the house at night – listening to his mother and stepfather and until last year, Claire and her friends, her boyfriend, so he had learned to lock his door from the inside, climb out the window, down the drainpipe and to the sidewalk, where he could wander around the neighborhood until he was ready to go home.
The second that Max's feet hit the pavement, he felt a little bit better. IF he wanted to, he could take off, just run away from a family that, once again, held no place for him. Max shoved his hands into his pockets as he began to walk, ignoring the cold air, pretending that he didn't care about the knit cap lying left behind on his dresser. He had, however, brought fingerless gloves with him, though that was because he had forgotten to remove them from his pockets earlier and not that he had remembered to bring them along.
Max slipped the gloves over his hands, pulling his fingers through the tops of the black gloves, which he had cut away himself. The second that his gloves were on, he covered his ears with his headphones, allowing the carefree sounds of Reel Big Fish to take over his world.
The convenience store nearest his house had to be passed up, as they checked the ID of any young person attempting to purchase cigarettes. Normally, this annoyed Max, but that night, he was glad for the extended walk – it gave him more time to just breathe, to drive his stepfather's words from his brain with the pointless words and upbeat sounds of the personal soundtrack that he had spent more time than necessary creating.
"Hey." Max walked up to the counter. He grabbed a cheap, plastic lighter, and tossed it onto the counter before speaking to the bored looking clerk. "I need a pack of cigarettes."
"What kind?" the man asked, standing to get what Max had asked for.
"Just whatever's cheapest." He shrugged. Brand didn't matter to him – just as long as he got what he needed from the item – warmth, nicotine and relaxation, the design on the box couldn't have mattered less.
"Ok then." The clerk threw a pack next to the lighter, ringing up Max's total. The teenager paid and took his purchases, leaving the store immediately, desperate to satiate his needs.
As Max took the first drag on the cigarette, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He leaned up against the side of the building, his eyes closing as he let the nicotine mix with the ska music still pounding through his headphones – the ultimate cocktail for relaxation. When he was finished, Max stamped the butt of the cigarette out against the side of the building, beginning to walk back towards home as he lit a second. However, Max dropped both cigarette and lighter no more than a block from the store as a stabbing pain shot through his head.
Max let out an anguished cry, stepping on and crushing the cheap lighter as stumbled forwards. He tore off his headphones, gripping his forehead in an attempt to soothe the sharp, sudden ache. The pain refused to subside, and Max found himself falling to his knees, meeting the sidewalk with a hit that seemed mild in pain compared to that which was shooting through his forehead. Seconds later, Max was on the ground entirely, writhing in the pain of the splitting headache.
"Max…" As he squeezed his eyes shut, a voice filled his head. "Max, come back to us! We need you Max!" No sooner than the voice had spoken, images filled his head. Carol was standing on the beach, calling to him. "Max, we need you to come back to us, please!"
"Max!" K.W. joined in. "Max, please! Help us! We need you!"
Max let out a strangled cry as his head continued to feel as though it were about to split in two. Tears that he was unaware of streamed down his cheeks and he pulled his legs tightly to his chest, curling up into a tight ball. He didn't understand what was happening to him.
"Max!" Carol looked outwards with pleading eyes. "We need you! Come back to us, please, Max, we need your help!"
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Max managed to shout, the images taking over his mind. "You're not real! YOU'RE NOT FUCKING REAL!"
"Max, how could you say that?" K.W. frowned at him. "Max, we need you! How can you deny us? Please, Max! We can't make it without your assistance!" Carol and K.W. continued to plead with him as pain continued to sear through his head. Carol was walking further out into the water, Max felt as though the beast were getting closer and closer to him, and then all of a sudden, the images were gone, the voices were gone and the pain was gone – in fact, everything around him disappeared as Max fell from consciousness.